Cops
by Alexandra the Gray
Summary: Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when we come for you? Hopefully a KagInu, MirSan fic. Rated T until further notice.


A seventeen year old girl with curly brown hair who is wearing a crimson and gold school pullover, blue and green plaid pajama pants, and a pair of old, dirty white slippers shuffles to the middle of a school stage, blinking dazedly into the harsh glare of the stage lights.

"Alright," she mumbles, adjusting the hem of her shirt nervously, "this is my first fic in a long, long time. Er, at least," she says, scrunching up her nose and making a face in thought, "the first fic that I've actually worked on anyway, I mean that I've been able to actually consider putting up…" she gradually becomes quieter and quieter.

"What was that?" a boisterous voice booms from the crowd. It belongs to a red hair, flushed face man wearing a silk smoking jacket and red ascot who is sitting in the third row of the auditorium, seeming to be the only one there.

"Speak up, girl," the man continues. "You've got to speak from your gut if you want to be heard. We can't have people overlook us because you can't use your diaphragm correctly, can we?"

"Who," the girl says, bringing her hands up to her chest as if in protection while nervously backing away, "who are you?"

"Who am I?" the man says, bringing his hand up to his chest in grand indication of himself. "I, my dear authoress, am your muse."

"Muse?" the Gray asks, shuffling further back, looking at the man with fear.

"Yes my dear, your muse." The man gets up, walking down the row of seats to an aisle and sweeping down it before stopping short of the area reserved for a small school orchestra, saying, "But you, young miss, may call me Felix."

"What," the girl continues to shy away, "what do you want from me?"

"From you?" the man says, considering. "All I want from you is a story."

"A story?" the Gray asks, an encouraged light coming to her eyes.

"Yes, my dear," Felix says gently, almost quietly.

"Alright," she says, gaining confidence slightly. "That I can do. But before we get to the story, my lawyer says that I have to say 'I do not own Inuyasha.'"

**Cops**

The heat that lingered at dusk weighed heavy on the city streets. The occasional car rolled leisurely along the pavement, an arm hooked by the elbow hanging out the driver's side window or a foot casually resting by the ankle out the passenger's side, the hydraulics rigging the old muscle cars bouncing and dipping to the beat and resonant boom of a stereo. Men and women sat on large, open porches with cheap paper fans as they wished for air conditioning, occasionally gathering the energy to swat at the flies that hovered around.

The deep roar of a sports car's modified muffler as it zipped along mingled with the buzz of pedestrians as they meandered along the spacious walk. The zap of insects colliding with the bright neon of their doom persevered through the onslaught of other sounds.

The obstructed sunset cast the city in variations of rusty, burnt orange and shades of gray created by the vague shadows which dwarfed the shady figures that created them. The flickering street lights and electric neon signs had no effect toward the oncoming, yet distant night.

On a plain street corner stood two women, all high heels and short skirts and cleavage, both inside the new light of a street lamp after the dying sun. One stood facing the light commotion of traffic, her arms hooked under her breast, her long, dark hair being flipped over her shoulder as she waited on the passing vehicles, looking from car to car as if searching for something important. The other stood behind her, her back turned as she took a long drag off an already half gone cigarette, dark bangs falling inter her eyes as she belligerently glared at any who stared too long and with the wrong sentiment. She took a moment before blowing the smoke out of her lungs and mouth, then turned and passed the lighted cig to her companion, who gladly accepted it.

In an ally lit only by the dimness of a single bulb over the back entrance of a building, wooden crates haphazardly placed on the opposite side of the ally and a dark green, rusted out dumpster to one side of the door, a teenage boy with vivid red hair held in a loose ponytail under a blue bandana came crashing out of the door, hurtling into a low mound of sticky black trash bags. A small Chinese man with a white apron tied around his waist came out, hollering into the night. The teenager hastily regained his footing and sprinted down the ally and into the crowd, a small doggy bag tucked underneath his arm, the Asian man behind him yelling all the while, his face scrunched up in indignation and anger, his fist thrust into the air.

In a deserted parking lot a rowdy group of sixteen to twenty year-olds jeered as they circled around, hissing obscenities and insults, cheers and praise as a young man with messy brown hair plastered to his face in sweat fell to the ground, clutching his stomach before panic overtook his expression of pain and he hurriedly attempted to crawl away as someone older, perhaps in his first year of adulthood, advanced on him, his knuckles dripping a blend of their two bloods.

While the rest of the city went about their business, the citizen making their way home after a much too long day at work, or party goers, clubbers and students making their way to an even longer night out, there was a quiet, undisturbed section of a city block in the middle of it all. It was a simple, square building, painted a vivid bubblegum pink that, in the daylight, was almost unbelievably bright. The luminescent lighting inside clashed with the exterior darkness, reflecting back off the wind shields of the numerous black and white sedans parked around the building, shining up onto a large, three dimensional object akin to a sideways halo stationed above the low building on iron rods.

"Damnit!" exclaimed a rough, angry voice. "Where is that girl?"

The irate voice belonged to a twenty-something year old man with strikingly white hair and amber eyes. He sat at a booth, leaning back against the maroon pseudo-leather with his arms cross over his lean chest, his bottom lip stuck out in a sulky pout.

"Now, now, Inuyasha," said the violet eyed, black haired young man sitting across from him. His eyes twinkled with just the right amount of wisdom and roguishness to make anyone sharp enough worry as he continued. "I'm sure she just had a bad bout with traffic."

"What traffic?" the fair-haired man huffed as he reached for the pink-lacquered cardboard box stationed in the middle of the table. "You and I both know that there _is_ no traffic in this city. No one ever seems to need to go anywhere all too fast."

"Maybe that's what's holding her up," said the brunette sitting next to the dark haired man. "If no one's in a hurry to get anywhere, then they probably won't be in a hurry to get out of her way."

"Yeah, yeah," Inuyasha said grudgingly as he withdrew his hand from the box and bit into the thing which drew his infatuation. His eyes had taken on a glazed look of bliss when he suddenly heard a tremendous _flop_, followed closely by a pained moan. He reluctantly brought his hand away from his mouth as he looked up at the others, a self-pitying expression painting his face.

"She's here," Miroku said in a sing-song voice as he rose from his seat and made his way to the glass doors which marked the entrance to their current location.

"I'm fine," a young woman with cascading waves of blue-black hair reassured those around her as she climbed unsteadily to her knees, struggling to maintain the strap of her purse as she gratefully accepted Miroku's offered hand. "I'm fine."

"And it's good to see that you are," Miroku said graciously, bending slightly to take full advantage of her confused and distracted state to cop the optimum feel without notice, his short dragon tail brushing the back of his neck as he lead her to their table.

They stopped before the booth, taking their time to examine the two blue-uniformed figures before them before Miroku took his seat. The raven hair girl opted to stand, however, as she stared in absentminded fascination at the white headed man with an empty, waiting space for her. After a moment or so of her staring, Inuyasha snapped.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

The piercing noise of his inquiry startled the girl out of her trance and she suddenly seemed quite unsure.

"You-" she began uncertainly, "you've got something," she motioned toward the corner of her mouth, then decided to forgo that gesture in favor of another.

"You've got something right here," she said, motioning in a circular motion to her whole mouth.

Inuyasha quickly turned away, wiping at his mouth before bringing his hand away only to find the messy whiteness of powdered sugar coating his fingers.

"Damnit!" he said, casting a baleful glare at the powdered doughnut before him.

He then redirected his ire to the girl still standing indecisively by the booth.

"Oh, just sit down already!" he ordered, once again crossing his arms as the young woman sat down gingerly beside him.

"There," Felix said, sitting on the edge of the stage beside the Gray, rubbing her back comfortingly, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," she says, shyly hiding behind her shoulders while smiling brightly, "not hard at all."


End file.
